


Unconventional Relationships

by NixieThePixie



Series: Imra Trevelyan Chronicles [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age 2
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Light Sexual Content, Romance, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-08-31 01:31:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 17,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8558002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NixieThePixie/pseuds/NixieThePixie
Summary: Garrett Hawke: a snarky man-child with the apparent intelligence of a nug and the social tact of a bronto. Also, a mage.Imra Trevelyan: a young woman currently not finding any of the above particularly amusing. Also, a herbalist.A slowburning romance between the two told in snippets of their lives. Prologue to the chronicles of Imra Trevelyan and Garrett Hawke.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This happened because pretty mage-boys appeared on my screen after arriving at Skyhold and I have never looked back since.  
> Enjoy.

The first time Imra Trevelyan meets the fabled Garrett Hawke she is far from being even _remotely_ impressed.

Oh sure, he is easy on the eyes with his slightly rugged features, fierce eyes and powerfully built body, but mentally he appears to simply have the social skills of a child.

A snarky, armed and unbelievable child who currently is trying to bring together enough intelligence to form a coherent sentence.

And failing. Horribly.

“I tell ya,” the man drones on as he leans wobbly against her counter, “You’ve got the cheapest elfroot ‘round ‘ere… and I _like_ it!”

“Thank you, serah.”

The dark-haired mage grins widely, showcasing an impressive set of white teeth, as he twirls the handle of his mage-staff around in shoddy, slow movements. His little elvhen friend is standing by the doorway, nervously shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she glances out of the one small shop-window beside it. The two of them have been here for less than twenty minutes and Imra can already feel the madness begin to prick at the back of her head.

“I need to close my shop, serah,” she says calmly behind her desk, placing one hand neatly over the other as she glares at the roaringly drunk man in front of her, “Now.”

Hawke simply pouts before grumbling about cranky women and _not enough damn ale_ as Merrill frets and tries to convince her to stay open long enough for Fenris to come back with Varric and _please_ , don’t send them out on the streets with Hawke like this.

Imra is _not_ amused.

But she lets them stay. Just long enough for the dwarf and other elf to pick them up, of course.


	2. Chapter 2

“I think we came off on the wrong foot.”

Being offered a somewhat flattened bouquet of embrium is not what Imra expects in the middle of her work, but there Garrett Hawke stands in front of her desk, sheepish and with flaming red cheeks while the dwarf from last week is struggling not to bend over from laughter by the door.

Well, damn.

“You are giving me flowers?”

“Uh, yes…?” he frowns, bushy brows meeting in an adorable wrinkle above the bridge of his nose.

“You are giving me flowers with healing properties when I work with both flowers and herbs _with healing properties_?”

Hawke stands there, staring stupidly at her for a few moments before confusion is replaced with annoyance as he turns on his heel and roars at the dwarf who bolts out the door, leaving the mage behind with a loud cackle of laughter.

“We will continue this!” he snaps at her before forcing the bundle of flowers into her arms and storming out of the small apothecary, promising pain and curses upon the dwarf who fled.

She looks down at the abused flowers with raised eyebrows before she huffs and finds a tall cup for them to soak in. Might as well use the damn gift, even if the man is an absolute moron…

In the end he never comes back to the shop that evening, but the flowers holds out an entire week before she decides to ask him for new ones the next time she sees him.

Hawke agrees.


	3. Chapter 3

Dwarves, Imra quickly learns, are sore losers. _Very_ sore losers if one Varric Tethras is to be believed which coincidentally is the only reason why Imra has agreed to come to the Hanged Man and be his partner in a strange, twisted version of co-Wicked Grace.

She really has no idea how he tricked her into it.

Shouts and drinks are thrown from one end of the dingy tavern to the other as Imra shifts between glaring at the cards she shares with Varric and the dwarf in question, ignoring Garrett Hawke and his scarcely-dressed friend simply going by ‘Isabela’.

So far Hawke and Isabela has won five out of eight rounds so far and Varric is getting more prickly by the second despite liberal amounts of both snacks and alcohol that the barkeep supplies the four of them with. Isabela seems to be enjoying hitting on her if the not-so-subtle innuendos are to be believed and that dratted Hawke is too busy giving both Isabela and Imra what he probably thinks are saucy smirks.

Hawke being roaringly drunk-- _AGAIN_ \--kind of ruins it, though.

“Yer eyes’re so… so _green_ ,” Hawke slurs out with his elbows propped up on table, his and Isabela’s Wicked Grace-cards lying abandoned somewhere on the ale-soaked floor, “Why’ssat?”

“I was born with them.”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘f _course I_ _know_ _that_ ,” he snickers before pointing a callous finger at her, “I… _know things_.”

“You do?” comes Varric’s intelligent answer before he belches and grabs for the small bowl with de-shelled nuts, “Cont… congraz… _congralusations_.”

“It’s ‘congratulations’, Master Tethras,” Imra corrects offhandedly as she places their cards on the table and rises from the table, ignoring Isabela’s giggling demand that she stays _just one more round_ , “And I will be leaving now. It’s been quite the evening.”

“I’ll walk ya home!” Garrett boasts before giggling over something moronic no doubt, “Hah, walking…”

“I am able to find my own way home, serah Hawke,” Imra says as her eyebrows rise, “Are you even sure that you can stand on your own two feet?”

“Of… _course_!” Hawke grins at her before wobbling up from his chair and stumbling around the table to offer his sweaty arm to her, leaning down to whisper in her ear with a conspiratorial look in his eyes, “I was raised to be a… a _gentleman_! That’s… _very_ important f’you t’know, you know…”

“Of course, serah Hawke,” Imra nods slowly before she cautiously places her hand on the arm he is still offering her, “Then let us put that to the test, yes?”

He’s perfectly gallant the entire way home, chatting away about everything from his latest adventure up at Sundermount with Merrill (his fretting, little Elvhen friend, she later learns) to his horrible attempt at playing a prank on his brother Carver which involves stealing a net of fermenting salmon and being followed through both Hightown and Lowtown by all the cats of the respective neighborhoods.

Well, at least until they reach her door, which is when he decides to throw up on her shoes.

Lovely…


	4. Chapter 4

Surprisingly enough for Imra it is not Garrett Hawke who brings her flattened out flowers the next day, but instead a taller, leaner version of him—the only other features that are different is the absence of the scruffy beard and that golden eyes have turned a bright blue.

“I’m Carver,” the man says awkwardly as he holds out a few downtrodden blood lotus to her, “Garrett’s younger brother… he told me to give these to you. He’s too big of a wuss to talk to you right now after vomiting over your shoes.”

Imra simply accepts the bouquet of flowers with a knowing smile, “You can tell your older brother that he can drag his sorry rear down here and apologize himself or that discount he’s somehow earned will disappear. _Completely_.”

Carver just stammers out a squeaky “Yes Ma’am!” before bolting out the door.

His brother appears later that evening covered from top to toe in blood, his staff slung over his shoulder and a few dozen nicks and scrapes littering every piece of visible skin he has.

“‘s not all mine, the Coterie attacked me,” he simply states when she freaks at the sight of all the blood, rolling his eyes as Imra demands he _sit down_ _this instant_ , before doing as she says without much complaining.

No one says anything as she carefully cleans the blood from his skin and dabs a healing poultice on the cuts and bruises courtesy of the Coterie.

“Sorry about your shoes,” he finally mutters while looking at the wall. Silence fills the small apothecary again but it’s a comfortable one this time filled with warmth and security, a rare occurrence in Lowtown nowadays.

“Apology accepted,” she finally answers before leaning back to look up at his face, “Although…”

“What?”

“You need to find better flowers. Those blood lotuses were practically dead.”

“Duly noted.”


	5. Chapter 5

“I’m going to the Deep Roads with Varric soon.”

That sentence, those nine words, is all it takes for Imra to drop the pottery in her hands onto the floor where it shatters, and later she scolds herself for slipping up so easily, before turning on her heel and staring up at Garrett Hawke’s strictly serious face.

“Do you have a _death wish_?”

“Nope,” he chirps, seriousness gone in an instant, “Anders already checked me. Multiple times, I might add. Oh, he’s going too, by the way.”

“You think that will reassure me?” she gapes, “With the way you run into problems here in Kirkwall I’d find it more likely for you to just walk straight up to the darkspawn and invite them home for tea. Who knows, maybe you’ll find common interests with an ogre and drag it home with you!”

He winces at her sharp tone of voice, Imra’s words hitting a still-bleeding nerve, before sitting down on the small chair she has ready for people who need a cut or two fixed up or a headache cured before they go home. He twirls his staff around in his hands for a few moments before he looks up again at her, “Are you worried?”

“It is the _Deep Roads_ , how can I not be worried?”

“Well, didn’t know you cared.”

“You are… a friend, serah Hawke,” Imra admits slowly as she looks him straight in the eye, “So, come back home in one piece to Kirkwall. You still owe me better flowers, remember?”

“Yeah, don’t think I’ll find any down there, but who knows?”

“Come back safe, at least promise me that.”

Moments pass and Hawke remains silent. Both of them knows that the Deep Roads are no laughing matter, and chances are that not everyone from the upcoming expedition will come back. This is something he cannot promise her and it hurts, it hurts much more than it ought to do.

“Be careful down there, then,” Imra says curtly before she turns around and walks away, too angry to even look at him.

Hawke quietly exits the small apothecary. He leaves the next morning.


	6. Chapter 6

In the months following Hawke’s departure from Kirkwall, it is strangely quiet in Lowtown. Well, at least the kind of quiet that Lowtown is used to with the occasional murder or robbery or mugging.

The usual stuff.

Hawke has left his brother at home with his mother and uncle, much to Carver’s never-ending annoyance, as he never seems to lack time to rave about his thoughtless brother or how the dratted fool is going to get himself killed in the end.

None of it helps the nagging sense of guilt that has plagued Imra’s gut for the past few months.

Imra throws the raving boy out of her apothecary after he’s let out steam in the apothecary for the third time this week, and has scared off more than enough customers, and Carver comes back the next day with an apology and an invitation from his mother for her to come and have dinner with them the next day.

The idea is ludicrous and she really shouldn’t accept it, she knows that it will only lead to bad things, but apparently Carver has been instructed to not take no for an answer and ends up worming out a reluctant yes from her after hours upon hours of nagging.

However, it is not Carver who arrives the next evening to escort her, but instead a surly, old man. One short introduction of ‘ _Gamlen, now come on’_ later and Imra is dragged across Lowtown until they stop in front of a shabbily built house. The stench of piss is coming from the alleyway beside the house, and she can hear drunkards fool around further down the street, but what surprises her are the twin pots of crystal grace on each side of the door.

She is only given a moment to admire the flowers before Gamlen is banging on the door and hurrying inside with Imra right behind him.

The Hawke Family’s home is small and a bit drafty but a fire is roaring in the hearth and the smell of food lifts whatever drab atmosphere the outside of Lowtown tries to paint it.

Leandra Hawke is as charming and welcoming as any other host Imra has ever met but her smile is strained and the dark spots under her eyes tells a different tale. She is as worried for her eldest as Imra is, only Leandra acts upon her anxiety by fussing over what family still remains with her while Imra hides away in her apothecary and snaps at people who pry.

Dinner goes from pleasant to quiet to tense as the hours tick by and Carver still hasn’t come home. Leandra barely eats, too busy casting glances at the ruined door, and Gamlen downs drink after drink as he aggressively picks at the food in front of him.

When Carver finally arrives home, dinner is long over and done with and Leandra stands ready at the door with a chastising look in her eyes and a verbal lashing on her tongue. He simply mutters a half-felt apology before disappearing into the room he shares with both Gamlen and Garrett, clutching a small piece of paper in his hand while Imra thanks Leandra for a lovely evening and the food.

A letter bearing the seal of the Templar Order.


	7. Chapter 7

The Deep Roads, Hawke has decided, are utter bullshit.

It’s cold one moment and then it’s hot and it reeks of dawkspawn and time is _completely impossible to tell_.

Anders is traipsing along beside him with a constant tick on his face as the healer’s eyes dart from one dark spot to the next and once more Garrett thanks the Maker that he thought to bring along Kirkwall’s resident rogue Grey Warden. Varric—the _bastard_ —is clutching that damn crossbow of his to his chest as if it was made out of solid gold while cursing very loudly how utter shit he thinks the Deep Roads are as well. Fenris is doing little better with his glaring at every single vein or glimpse of lyrium that the troupe walks past and clutching the handle of his greatsword almost manically.

Darkspawn are _fucking everywhere_ and everyone is _freaking out_ and then one of the Maker be damned dwarves _go_ _missing_ _in this shithole of a cave-system_. Suffice to say that Garrett is not a happy man at this moment.

He thinks of his mother, of his brother, of his uncle and the friends that he has left behind in Kirkwall so they won’t fall to the Blight. He thinks of the funny little healer he met on a drunken whim and since then keeps visiting.

_“Come back safe, at least promise me that.”_

Hawke is surprised when he hears the funny little healer from Lowtown ask the same as his mother did the day she learned of the expedition. He doesn’t expect it and that makes it all even more aggravating and confusing when she mistakes his sudden silence for refusal of her request and walks away. He wants to turn her around and tell her something, _anything_ but then she’s gone and he is left standing in the shop like an idiot.

He will have to apologize when he gets back to Kirkwall. With flowers, of course; flowers and a good bottle of wine grabbed from that fancy spot up in Hightown—at least that’s how you woo a lady according to Isabela.

Just as soon as he’s gotten out of these Blighted Deep Roads, of course.


	8. Chapter 8

What starts out as two months slowly turns into three, then four and five and six. Hawke’s little expedition has long exceeded the date that they should have been back and Leandra is getting more and more anxious by the day.

Her only daughter is dead, her oldest boy off gallivanting somewhere in the Deep Roads with a dwarven expedition and her youngest boy constantly running off whenever he isn’t raving about being left behind by Garrett.

She can’t take it anymore.

All Leandra wants is a safe home to return to, a home that isn’t five yards short of the local brothel or alehouse or whatever filthy facilities that Lowtown can offer her and her family.

Gamlen doesn’t want her here anymore; she can tell from how he glares at her in the evenings when she is mending clothes or writing letters petitioning for an audience with the Viscount. He glares and scowls and reeks like a barrel of ale was tipped over him and Leandra curses the day she agreed to live with him. He might once have been family, but no more.

Oh, if only Garrett would come home…

Garrett’s friends come by from time to time, mostly dear Aveline who amuses Leandra every now and then with a tale about her oldest boy’s shenanigans with the rest of those strange companions of his. She also hears of that strange little healer living in Lowtown who appears to have her dear Garrett’s attention. The girl is polite to others, at least, and Leandra has seen her before on market-day when she stocks up on herbs and new jars or cloth for bandaging. The girl is not a healer like the kind, young man living in Darktown that Garrett used to drag home every now and then. She uses mixtures and potions and herbs like the old man back home in Lothering, she bandages scraps and wounds with care instead of holding her hands over a limb and glowing an eerie light.

The lack of magic is refreshing.

Leandra is tired of it all, of the fight between Templar and Mage, of her family drifting further and further apart, so that little bit of normalcy is what saves her whenever everything seems a bit too much.

Just a little bit of normalcy in a city being driven over the edge little by little.


	9. Chapter 9

Fucking twisted dwarves, fucking never ending Deep Roads, fucking _everything_!

That fucking Bartrand and his fucking magpie-instincts, or whatever the fuck Varric calls it, can just go straight to Hell or get eaten by an Ogre— _anything really as long as the blighted bastard fucking dies_!

Anders is freaking out whenever he isn’t healing whatever scrape or slash the group gets, Varric has retreated to snap at everyone who isn’t crossbow-shaped, or named  _Bianca_ , whenever he isn’t hissing curses, and Fenris has simply taken to channel his rage through demolition of darkspawn, weird earth-spirits and demons.

The tunnels and small passages are seemingly endless in the darkness before them and even with Fenris’ enhanced vision in the dark and finer sense of hearing combined with Anders’ ability to sense darkspawn they keep getting surprised.

“I’m sorry, Hawke,” Anders says again and again in a pained tone of voice as he kindles a shy ball of flame to only just-so illuminate their twisting path. The sense of the darkspawn all around him must be hard, Garrett says to himself whenever the Grey Warden warns them only seconds before hurlocks and shriekers are upon them. All of them are stresses, sore and hungry with nothing but fucking deep mushrooms and healing draughts to live on; they left essential food with the main body of the expedition and they are feeling the effects of their choices now.

There are only so many times you can eat roasted deep mushroom before the novelty of the fungus dish or bread that has gone stale weeks before and at some point it probably won’t be past them to try and eat the blighted demons that keep throwing themselves at the little group.

Garrett just has to hope that an exit won’t be so far off. They’ll be out soon enough—out in the sun with wind and rain and thunder and earth around them.

They’ll be home soon.


	10. Chapter 10

It takes far too long from the day that Garrett departs from Kirkwall to when he comes back. Several months spent underground and one month getting their sorry, weary selves back to Kirkwall after marking down where they found all the gold on three different maps.

Kirkwall has not changed a single thing in the group’s absence; the streets still just a bit crooked when you know where to look, Lowtown still smells like the shit a dog drags in and half-meant insults are being hurled at you wherever you go.

Varric and Anders part ways with him at the Hanged Man, Fenris had already left for his abandoned mansion when they stepped inside Kirkwall’s gates, leaving him to go home alone with nothing but his thoughts to give him company.

He stares at the door in front of him, finding it hard to believe that Gamlen’s shitty mess of planks and plaster still stands. A couple of new holes dot the front of it, arrows if Garrett has to take a guess, but there are still pots of crystal grace outside and still a broom hidden away to clean the front every now and then.

He knocks once, twice and hears someone open the lock and twist the knob to open the door.

Dark hair streaked with grey and vibrant blue eyes meets his own and for a moment all he does is stare at her before stepping forward to hug her as tight as he can.

Leandra doesn’t speak a single word, her mouth opening and closing, but then the tears start and she hugs him back and weeps in joy.

“My boy… my little boy…”

“I’m home, mother…”


	11. Chapter 11

Kirkwall appears to have changed while he’s been away after all.

His brother has gone and joined _the fucking Templars_ and Garrett can’t remember the last time he has been as furious as when he marches to the Templar headquarters and slams in their doors to roar Carver’s name as loud as he can.

Obviously the whole lot comes waltzing out with swords bared and shields raised high and it probably doesn’t help that Garrett’s brought his new staff with him as he demands to see his brother and _Andraste’s fucking underclothes_ , _he is Carver’s brother and they can stick their swords where the sun doesn’t shine_!

Meredith making an appearance doesn’t help things either and before long Garrett is thrown out of the Templar compound and threatened with a Smite if he doesn’t remove himself from the Gallows.

Garrett flips them off before he stalks home and glares at anyone who looks his way.

Leandra is as distressed as Garrett is furious and all Gamlen does is spitting out snide comments until Garrett throws a knife at the man and scratches his ear. He shuts up after that, at least, and leaves the house in complete silence.

Well, at least until he hears Anders’ voice outside the door demanding that he’s let in.

Garrett groans; it’s going to be a long day…


	12. Chapter 12

Garrett Hawke is no coward.

His mother has raised him to always look out for his siblings, no matter the danger, and his father made sure that Garrett wasn’t running around blowing up said dangers when magic had decided to forego knocking on the front door back in the day—with varying degrees of success, but who was counting the number of singed smallclothes belonging to the Templars anyway?

So why is speaking up outside the small apothecary and making his presence known so damn hard all of a sudden?

When he came to say he was leaving they didn’t part on good terms and if living with his mother and Bethany has taught him anything it’s that women are particularly good at holding grudges.

It’s in times like these when he wishes that he has the same level of blunt idiocy that Carver excelles at.

A pair of guards walks by and stares at the him, but whether it’s because of the expressions Garrett makes or because of what he’s holding in his hands no one knows.

The door opens and out she comes, dark hair still pulled away from her face in a bun and that frown she sports whenever something has annoyed her on her face—she looks just like when he left so long ago and for a moment Garrett can’t stop grinning because she’s just like she was before and she hasn’t changed in the slightest _and_ _it’s brilliant_!

She walks into him, startled, and then takes a step back in surprise when she recognizes him.

“You’re back.”

“Ah, yes. I am.”

Garrett scratches the back of his head as a sheepish grin spreads on his face and he thrusts out what he has been holding in his hands.

“Here, you asked for flowers, right?”

He presents a flat and wilted bouquet of embrium, the fiery orange petals dull and grey, but he has never seen a brighter smile.


	13. Chapter 13

Over the years Varric has been involved with many a wicked schemes. It’s stuff you learn when your dick of an older brother knows a few of the inner members of the Carta and your favorite human friend goes and befriends a Rivaini pirate captain who wouldn’t know the word ‘shame’ if it got up and slapped her in the face.

However, initiating what can only be described as a ‘catfight between healers’ has to be a first.

And it’s downright _hysterical_.

“No, I am sorry but I just can’t live off charity work.”

“That’s a sorry excuse!”

“No, that’s being realistic.”

Blondie is glaring at the smaller woman in front of him with a sour expression on his face and clutching his mug of swill until his knuckles turn white. At least Justice hasn’t deemed this a travesty against all of humanity and mages, so Varric can breathe easy for now and hope that the Templars won’t poke their shiny helmets into the Hanged Man today. If he’s lucky.

“I need to eat,” Imra is defending herself with crossed arms and a stubborn frown connecting her brows, “and it’s not like I charge much for my herbs. Not everyone can afford doing this for free.”

He probably should intervene right now, Varric thinks to himself, but Anders going straight to preaching about the sufferings of Kirkwall’s poor is too good to pass up, especially right now where no guardsmen or Templars are anywhere near him.

The two continue to snap barely veiled insults at each other for most of the afternoon until the door to the bar slams open and reveals Garrett galivating in like he owns the place. It takes the man few moments to spot his friends and Garrett hurries over to their table while smiling like an idiot.

“What, you’re insulting each other without me around? That’s just rude is what it is!”

Anders grows quiet when Garrett sits down beside him and smiles that cheeky grin of his, and Varric nearly loses it when he spots the flushed cheeks that the Grey Warden is sporting.

 _Oh Blondie, you poor bastard_ , Varric chagrines and flags down one of the serving girls for another bout of drinks now that Garrett’s joined the table and prattling off about his latest job, causing an exasperated expression from Imra and pouts from Blondie—probably because he wasn’t dragged along.

Poor bastard indeed.


	14. Chapter 14

“Tonight!” Garrett grins as he looks at Imra from the entryway into her little shop, “You have to come tonight!”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused,” the daft idiot smirks as he wades in and holds out a small envelope with her name on it, “Now, open it!”

He’s acting like a giddy child, and it’s the happiest she’s seen him be ever since he came home to Kirkwall and found out about his younger brother, so she takes it and carefully opens the envelope to read whatever it is.

“You’ve bought back the Amell Mansion?”

“Indeed I have! Sodded Deep Roads had some uses in the end!” Garrett grins, all teeth and child-like enthusiasm, “You are hereby formally invited to a tour of the premises by yours truly! Oh, and dinner! Mother said that I should bring you over. She likes you.”

Imra blushes at his words and tucks her hair behind her ears, refusing to meet his eyes as he cackles and galivates out of the shop without a care in the world.

“Tonight, Trevelyan!”

The same evening Garrett shows up to haul her home with him. His grin is ecstatic and his mood merry as if Satinalia has come early this year. She barely has time to lock up before they are on their way to Hightown, but even though she has seen the tall, pristine buildings of the upper class it still comes as a shock when she steps inside the Amell Mansion.

She feels severely out of place.

Elegant tapestries hangs from the ceiling and soft rugs cover the stone floor. Expensive paintings adorn the walls and sophisticated paintings of several noblemen and noblewomen hang side by side. Furniture and plants sparsely decorate the front hall she steps into, but from what she can see the lavish and extravagant decorations only grow more intense upstairs and in the adjoining rooms.

It reminds her of Ostwick, of the Trevelyan family home and all the blighted things she ran away from but she only smiles and nods when Garrett drags her over to greet his mother and introduce her to the two dwarves he has taken in as servants.

She refuses to ruin this for him.


	15. Chapter 15

 “I told you I’m _fine_!”

“Tell that to your ribcage, you blighted idiot!” Varric snipes at his favorite human as the two of them sit in the small apothecary shop in Lowtown and wait for Imra to come back with bandages and poultices.

“Where’s your healer friend? Anders, that was his name, yes?” Imra calls from out back, her voice muffled from the back.

“Blondie’s been buried with the mage underground for weeks now. We literally haven’t been able to find him anywhere, he’s not even in his little clinic.”

Imra comes back out with her arms full and places everything down before she starts pulling off the buckles that hold together Garrett’s armor.

“Y’know, you could just ask to see me shirtless,” Garrett snickers and his grin only stretches when he is given a cold stare in return.

 “You’ve broken three ribs and bruised your collarbone. Just how can you get so injured by traipsing about out along the Wounded Coast?”

“Sodden Tal-Vashoth… how was I supposed to know that their mages could make the air explode? Also, for the record, I don’t go ‘traipsing about’ when I’m out of Kirkwall, I keep people safe,” Garrett sniffs indignantly before he pokes gingerly at his ribs to feel how bad it is. He winces and Imra slaps his hands away from the tender area.

“We stumble across rogue Qunari with weirdass mages and your first reaction is to run towards them? Maker’s breath, Hawke, you’re an imbecile.”

“Oi! I’ll have you know I’m quite intelligent, Varric, thank you very much!”

“Did the throw make you delusional as well as injured?”

“My heart aches from your cruel, cruel words, m’lady!”

“Stuff it. You’re not moving about for the next five weeks minimum if you want those ribs to heal.”

“I can feel the love ooze from your kind heart,” Garrett waxes poetically, nevermind that his prose is absolute shit, and earns another slap over the hand from Imra.

“I said ‘stuff it’, serah Hawke.”

“Urgh, you two are disgustingly sweet to look at that it’t not even funny,” Varric snickers before diving down from the chair he occupies when Garrett throws a jar of healing poultice after him.

“Shut it, dwarf!”


	16. Chapter 16

The first time Imra sees the Qunari Compound she finally understands why the whole city is on edge. The foreigners are large and bulky with menacing horns and expressionless faces that gives the scoundrels and cutpurses shivers when they pass.

She has gone to the docks to deliver an order from one of the karasten, a soldier from what she understands, but every step she takes towards the Qunari compound seems heavier than the last.

The guard outside the gates to the compound stops her and pats through her basket full of jars with balms and poultices and the occasional potion before taking it from her and hands it over to another stonefaced warrior. He ushers her away after handing over a purse of coins and Imra walks away with shivers running down her back and goosebumps on her arms and hands.

She meets Merrill on her way back—the sweet Elvhen girl is browsing the market stalls of Lowtown with wide and marveled eyes, and Imra cannot help but think of herself when she was so much younger and saw the outside of the Trevelyan mansion for the very first time.

“You were down by the docks? Ooh, what were you doing down there?”

“Delivering an order for the Qunari.”

Merrill blinks and looks at her with those wide, innocent eyes of hers as her mouth opens and closes a few times.

“You went in there?” the elf points down the dirty steps that lead to the docks, “Weren’t you scared? I know I’d be very scared if I had to go in there all by myself.”

“I was not allowed inside, Merrill. I don’t think they trust anyone right now.”

“Eh, they probably shouldn’t either. Hawke helped them recently, though, so he’s probably the only one besides the occasional guard who is allowed to visit," Merrill shrugs and plays with one of the apples she has bought from the markets.

“He helped the Qunari? I didn’t think they wanted anything to do with us here in Kirkwall.”

Merrill giggles, “Fenris apparently knows their language and told their leader that Hawke could help. We ended up accidentally closing off an entire street, though. I think we upset Aveline because of it, she's refused to come along for a week now.”

Imra can’t help it. She clutches Merrill’s shoulder and starts laughing.

Some things just never change.


	17. Chapter 17

When Carver turns up on his doorstep in the morning Garrett is torn between ripping his idiot brother a new one for joining the ruddy Templars and joining in on the family group hug that Mother initiated. He wonders if Mother would be terribly sad to lose that new tapestry from Antiva hanging above the doorway and how flammable it possibly is.

No, the only thing that really holds him back from mauling one Carver Hawke and screw, no, _fuck_ the consequences is his mother who currently babbles away as she hauls her youngest son inside and sits him down in the common room.

She then asks him to tell Bodahn to fetch them all some tea and buscuits as if Carver is a fucking noble and not his tit of a brother who _went and joined the fucking Templars_.

No, Garrett has no inclination of letting that one go.

Abso- _fucking_ -lutely not.

“Garret, dear, please put down that glass and talk to Carver. We haven’t seen him for months!”

“Oh no, mother, I actually saw Carver quite recently.”

“You tried to months ago. Garrett was evicted from the Templar Grounds, mother.”

Oh yeah, there was that little incident earlier this year. Funny story really, even if it _did_ involve copious amounts of threats and Andraste’s naked form, but who is going to judge him when nearly every single person in Kirkwall has blasphemed their beloved Prophet’s name?

They were damn lucky he hadn’t decided to bring Anders with him, if that had been the case there wouldn’t be a single Templar standing.

Garrett blissfully drowns out the scolding his mother throws at him by standing up to grab a bottle of whiskey and a glass. He sits down shortly after and pours himself the first glass of many, far too carefree to give a damn about it not even being past ten bells yet.

_I need something to dull this moment_

“Garrett, this is your _brother_.”

“Sorry, can’t hear anything over the sound of _Carver betraying the family_ ,” he says and sips his whiskey, his eyes never leaving Carver’s.

There is silence for a moment before both Carver and Garrett stand up simultaneously, whiskey glass and teacup thrown to the floor—it takes them even less time for Carver to haul out his sword and Garrett to hold a fireball in his hand, ready to be launched.

Mother is screaming at them both to stop this idiocy, sit down like adults and _their father and her certainly didn’t raise their sons to act like fools_.

Garrett is above and beyond caring at this point.

“You just left me here!” Carver screams at him, blue eyes dark from rage and the hand holding his sword beginning to tremble, “You just left me like I was some pet to greet when you came home!”

“Oh, so you think that going down into the Deep Roads was all fun and giggles? Sure, it’s not as if we all collectively shat ourselves when Bartrand screwed us over and locked us away down there with darkspawn and demons!”

“ _Garrett_!”

The argument goes on for hours and hours; it doesn’t stop when Leandra flees the room in tears and it doesn’t stop when Carver finally breaks and hauls his sword at his brother. Garrett is too far gone to give a fuck and sends Carver to the ground with a well-placed Fist of the Maker.

“Get out of my house, Templar,” Garrett spits out and stalks out himself, slamming the doors as he goes.

He will _never_ forgive Carver for what he’s done.

 _Never_.


	18. Chapter 18

Satinalia has come once more to Kirkwall.

Things between Leandra and Garrett are still tense since Carver’s disasterous visit two months earlier, but the two of them make it through the evening anyhow—even exchanging a few presents before they both retire to their own corner of the mansion.

At some point during the evening he drags himself out of Hightown and makes his way down to the Hanged Man, kicks the door in and finds the tavern full of rowdy guests from all parts of Kirkwall.

Amidst the chaos sits Varric along with the rest of his friends and, surprisingly enough, Imra, who is busy trying to keep her clothes from getting sloshed with ale from all angles.

“Hawke! Come, sit your ass down here and save my dignity! Rivaini and Broody are kicking everyone’s asses.”

He grins and plants himself between Varric and Imra, peering over her shoulder down at the cards that she and Varric shares. Well, shit. No wonder Varric’s desperate.

“Playing co-Wicked Grace? Will wonders never cease to happen here in Kirkwall, hmm?”

“I’m still useless at the game, but Varric refused to take no for an answer when he came by the shop earlier,” Imra mutters and thrusts the horrible cards into Garrett’s hands, “Now save _both_ of our dignities from Isabela and Fenris.”

“How did you even drag Fenris down here in the first place?”

“We didn’t,” Varric grins and downs the last of his ale before flagging down a serving girl for another, “Isabela did.”

Across the table Isabela shoots the three a grin that can only be described as _filthy_ before she shuffles closer to Fenris and peers at their own cards.

The evening continues on with Garrett slowly replacing his morose thoughts with happy, drunken ones instead, full of Wicked Grace and at some point an arm is slung around Imra’s shoulders as they both double over from laughter over one of Varric’s jokes.

The next day Garrett comes home to find Leandra gone and a vase of white lilies standing on the table.


	19. Chapter 19

He is dragging her down one empty street after the other and it doesn’t take long for Imra to realize that she and Varric are heading for the Hanged Man.

“Came back after visiting some from the Merchant Guild and found him down in the bar, sloshed to the Void and back.”

“How am I supposed to help?!” Imra squaks out when they stop in front of the entrance to the bar and yanks her hand out of Varric’s.

“Because I can’t drag him away from the bar alone,” Varric explains slowly as if he is talking to a child before kicking in the door and hauling her with him into the bar where they see him hunched over the bar, dark hair sticking out everywhere and a broken staff leaning against his wobbly chair.

“Maker’s breath,” Imra murmurs when she reaches him and looks on as Varric tries to persuade his friend to stop drinking and go home.

“Varric? Whaddya doin’ ‘ere?”

“Brought company, Hawke. It’s time to get you home now.”

“’M not drunk ‘nough,” Hawke grumbles at the dwarf and waves a hand at him. The action makes him fall down from the chair and bang his head against the floor.

“A little help here?” Varric calls out and the barkeep comes around to help haul Garrett on his own two feet. Not long after they’re out of the bar with Garrett stumbling with them while yapping on about Maker knows what and looks just about ready to bawl his eyes out.

“Carver’s g’ne too… bastard wen’an’ b’came a ruddy _Templar_ ,” Garrett spits out and looks miserably down at the drink still clutched in his hand, “Why’d ‘e do tha’?”

“I…” Imra begins but is interrupted by Varric who cracks a horrible joke involving Knight-Captain Rutherford, the Blooming Rose and silk skirts.

“Be’any’s g’ne too and tha’ was m’fault. She said so,” Garrett chokes out, completely ignoring Varric’s joke, before sniffling and Imra silently panicks inside because Garrett Hawke is not a man she ever thought of as being reduced to tears.

“W-who did?”

“Mum,” Garrett says quietly before he glares at the drink and downs the rest of it, chucking the empty mug behind him without a thought, “An’ _then_ she’s proud’o me too an’ _gone_ and I dunno any more…”

He continues to groan and moan miserably all the way home from the Hanged Man to when they’re outside his mansion in Hightown. Varric helps holding Garrett into place while Imra knocks on the door and has Bodhan help get Garrett up into his bedroom. Imra tells Bodhan what will help with the roaring headache Messere Hawke will indure the next day, and then forces a mug of water down his throat before she prepares to leave—Varric already did so as soon as Garrett was safely inside his house.

“Noooooo,” Garrett groans when she removes herself from his bedside and fumbles for her hand, “Yer’ot s’possed ta leave.”

“You’re drunk and need rest.”

“Staaay…” he murmurs and finally locates her hand, dragging her down to him and stares up at her with droopy eyes, “You’ll stay?”

She sighs and gently tugs her arm free from his grasp, “I’ll stay, Garrett… for you.”


	20. Chapter 20

When Garrett stumbles down from his bedroom, hair still wet from his visit to the bathing chamber and hastily dressed in some loose clothing, the one thing he wouldn’t expect is hearing a bustle from the kitchen and see Bodahn look worriedly between him and said kitchen.

“Bodahn?” Garrett croaks and immediately winces. He sounds like he’s been eating that pepper dish Merrill presented them with back when the whole gang visited her in the Alienage for the first time.

“Ah, Messere! Your, erm, guest seems to have taken over the kitchens. Dragged my boy Sandal with her and told him to help her with the meals.”

“I… see,” Garrett mutters and walks towards the kitchens, listening to the rattle of pots and a soft voice instructing Sandal on how to cut something the same size. His head is violently protesting the noises as sharp, white flashes of pain appear behind his eyes. He shuffles from one foot to the other, not really keen on entering a room so full of noise of metal scrambling against metal.

He does it anyway.

Sandal looks up from the vegetable massacre he’s orchestrating when Garrett walks in. Simply smiling like he always does, the boy nods before returning to the mutilation of what appears to be a mix of carrots and kale.

Garrett makes a mental note that Sandal needs to keep his distance from knives in the future.

He looks over at Imra, stares at her back and feels the waves of tension she gives of.

“Sandal, you can go now. I’m sure Bodahn needs your help with something,” Garrett quietly says to the boy and pats the dwarf on the shoulder before he walks closer to Imra.

She doesn’t say a word to him and keeps her back turned to him when she picks up where Sandal left off and manages to salvage at least _some_ of the vegetables before throwing them into a pot. The silence is grating on his nerves just as the headache is threatening to make his eyeballs explode if he doesn’t find something to dull the pain with soon.

“Imr—”

“You scared me,” she finally whispers and keeps staring at the pot in front of her. Her hands are clenched and she’s biting into her lower lip.

“I… what?”

“Last night,” she says and turns around to look at him. Her eyes are rimmed with red and there are fresh trails of tears on her cheeks. “You scared me last night.”

“My mother _died_ and you got scared because I was drunk off my ass?” he grunts out, too tired right now to get into an argument with anyone. He’s tired and his head hurts and he _misses his mother_. Carver needs to be told even if he’s acting like a prick right now, and for a moment Garrett just can’t handle all of this. He doesn’t really hear what Imra says to him, only catching the last three words.

“…get it together!”

“She’s dead!” he roars at her and slams his fist down onto the table.

The kitchen is completely silent as Imra stills, a fresh wave of tears threatening to run down her cheeks, and Garrett breathes heavily as he struggles not to let his frayed emotions get the better of him. She doesn’t deserve to be the outlet for his anger and frustration right now, but it’s just so tempting to simply vent and scream until the emotions are gone.

“She’s dead…” he repeats and covers his mouth with his hand to keep the sobs from escaping.

Without a word Imra simply walks up to him and wraps her arms around him. The angle of it all is a little awkward with their different heights, and Imra has to stand on the tips of her toes to reach around his neck, but it’s the first bout of physical contact Garrett has had for _far too long_ and he automatically does the same. What surprises him next is the need to cry because crying is not really something he’s used to. Neither him or his family could ever really afford to get emotional when counting three out of five as mages, but right now Garrett couldn’t care less.

He just clutches on for dear life and lets the tears fall.


	21. Chapter 21

Garrett and Imra doesn’t speak of what transpired between them for a good two weeks. Surprisingly they don’t even meet up for said two weeks as Garrett finds himself swarmed with several jobs or favors he’s somehow agreed to perform (Seriously though, what would it take for Hubert to just realize that the Bone Pit should just be left alone?).

Two weeks turns into three and then four until Imra finally catches a glance of Garrett with his troupe of friends striding through Lowtown while looking like they played around in a slaughterhouse. All except dainty Merrill and a blonde little elf is completely splattered in blood from top to toe, Garrett has Fenris’ arm slung over his shoulder as he help his friend walk.

“Ah, Imra!”

It takes her a moment to realize that it is Garrett who calls her name as he herds the entire group up to her apothecary, and for a moment all she sees is _him_ with his wide grin and relief evident in his eyes as he hurries towards her.

She sees the poor bandage wrapped around Fenris’ lower thigh, the exhausted expression on Anders’ face as he trails behind with a piece of fabric held against his temple and how Merrill keeps up an endless string of pointless chatter in a falsely cheery tone about Kirkwall to distract the Elvhen girl walking beside her.

“What happened?” are the first words out of her mouth and gestures them all inside before pulling out jars with healing poultices, a few lyrium potions for the mages and plenty of fresh bandages.

No one says anything until she hands over the lyrium to Anders and Garrett before tugging the bandage on Fenris’ leg off and handing him some alcohol to rub his wound with. She has already learnt that this particular elf has something against people touching him without explicit permission.

“Tevinter slavers,” Garrett grunts, chucks down the blue liquid in one go and hands her the empty vial of lyrium, “Blighters attacked us out on the Wounded Coast, took us by surprise.”

“I take it the surprise wasn’t a long lasting event, then?”

“Yep!” Garrett grins, popping the p and points a bleeding thumb at the blonde elf standing with Merrill, “Would you mind checking her over? I think she’s in shock.”

“Of course.”

Imra has the Elvhen girl sit down and quietly checks her over. Nothing appears wrong with the girl except a few stratches, and without a word Imra hands over a mild painkiller before returning to speak with Garrett.

The Elvhen girl doesn’t say a single word during the whole ordeal.

“Don’t leave her alone for the first few days, she’s in shock and needs to have someone nearby if something happens,” she says quietly but frowns when Garrett reaches down and hands over a small handful of golden sovereigns.

“Thanks. For everything here,” he says, eyes warm and his smile as bright as always.

“But this is too mu—”

“I insist.”

They are all out before she even has a chance to argue.


	22. Chapter 22

“Sister, come with me.”

She is glaring vehemently at the clay mug clutched in her hands, her knuckles white from the pressure she is holding her beverage with and lips thin from displeasure. She refuses to raise her eyes and look at the man in front of her in all his armored glory.

“ _Sister_.”

A gauntleted hand reaches out and grasps her wrist, tugging slightly at it and Imra reluctantly looks up at green eyes and dark hair—eyes and hair like her own but the face darker and angular, so much more adult than her own soft features.

“Come home, Imra. You have had your fun but it is time to grow up.”

“Why?” she spits out and yanks her hand out of her brother’s grasp, “I’m happy here; none of you have _any_ right to do this!”

“You’re a member of the Trevelyan family whether you like it or not.”

“I’m _tired_ , Ivan! I’m tired of the scheming and the alliances! All I want is to be left alone to my own devices, so you can take that proposal of yours and _shove it_!” she hisses at him and stands from the chair she has been occupying since her brother entered her home.

“Take some time to think about it,” Ivan simply says, his voice scathing and burning like acid in her ears, and his hand moves to rest on her cheek instead, “We only want what’s best for you.”

He takes his leave then and Imra buries her head in her hands as soon as he is out of her door, not even minding when her mug falls to the floor and shatters, spilling its contents over the floorboards.

This isn’t what she wants; she refuses to let her family dictate this new life she has here in Kirkwall where people aren’t simpering for favors, even if the scuffles between Templars and mages leave something to be desired. Kirkwall, despite its many flaws, is more of a home than Ostwick ever was to her but even so…

Imra is lost in a kadeiloscope of thoughts—her mind racing to find some sort of escape from the predicament she has found herself trapped in.

She cannot go back, she cannot remain and she has never felt as scared as she is now.


	23. Chapter 23

In hindsight Garrett really should have knocked before entering but, forgetful as he can be at times, the thought doesn’t even occur to him until he’s standing in the small apothecary and looking at the young woman bawling her eyes out behind the counter.

She startles when she hears him enter and frantically tries to hide the evidence of her tears from him. He watches on in confusion when she rubs her sleeves over her cheeks, leaving them flushing an angry red from the coarse fabric and only adding to the somewhat bedraggled appearance she sports.

“What happened?”

His question does the exact opposite of what he could ever have expected when she just bursts into tears anew and looks up at him with red, desperate eyes. Without another word he repeats what she did to him three weeks ago and walks around the counter to draw her into an embrace. He feels her hands fist up against back and only tightens his arms around her in response as sobs wrack her body and the tears continue to trail down her cheeks for what seems like eons of time.

“My brother came by.”

“You have siblings?”

“I’m the youngest of five.”

Garrett lets out a low whistle as Imra’s sniffles briefly interrupt the silence as she steps back and sits down on one of the wooden stools she keeps around for customers. He hauls out another one and sits down beside her.

“A bit different from me. I’m the oldest in my little dysfunctional family,” he comments lightly.

“He wants me to come home to Ostwick,” Imra says quietly as if Garrett never spoke at all, “Which means that my _father_ wants me to come home instead of running around here in Kirkwall and ‘wasting my life’ as he puts it.”

“You’re wasting your life by selling medicine?”

“I am if I’m not around to look pretty in front of noblemen and their sons.”

“Well,” Garrett grins, “I am the only son in the family _and_ , technically, I’m also a noble from Kirkwall and I find you very pretty.”

Imra’s cheeks flush and she lets out a watery giggle when he waggles his eyebrows at her.

“Don’t tease me,” she mutters, her cheeks tinged with a pink that has nothing to do with crying her eyes out.

“Who says I am?” he replies blithely and grins when she looks up at him in bewilderment.

Even flustered from crying and the odd hair sticking out here and there from her braid Garrett finds that Imra Trevelyan does indeed look very pretty—maybe even more than just ‘pretty’ but no one needs to tell her that just yet, right?


	24. Chapter 24

Ivan doesn’t show himself for the next seven days and Imra is happy enough to simply ignore the fact that her brother is somewhere in Kirkwall. She busies herself with her job, picking up packages with herbs from her deliverers and chatting with the few friends she has within the city when she shops for necessities. But even so she feels the uneasiness crawl up upon her in the evenings when she has closed up and is ready to just go to sleep.

It keeps her up for longer than it should and by the end of the third day she is skittish and jumps at even the smallest of things.

Another thing that has happened is Garrett’s daily visits to the apothecary.

He comes in once or twice a day, sometimes dragging along some of his companions, with the piss-poor excuse that he really should get to know the people of Kirkwall more. She knows he’s checking up on her, although whether he is making sure that she’s not hiding from the world somewhere in her home or checking if her brother has hauled her back home Imra has no idea.

Of course it doesn’t take him long to notice her skittish behavior because despite his easygoing and lighthearted appearance Garrett is far from stupid.

He pokes fun at her throughout the first day, though his jokes are more bark than bite—not to mention the horrible timing and nonexistent sense of atmosphere more often makes her choke back a snort than outright laugh.

He hangs around the shop a long time after she’s closed down on the second day and ends up staying for dinner, promising to bring his dog another time when he is about to leave for Hightown and gives her a blinding grin before he heads off.

He shows up on the third day with his arms full of royal elfroot and all Imra can do is stare at him with a slack jaw when she listens to his explanation of “stumbling” across the exact herb she’s been seeking a deliverer for in ages. Clearly she needs more sleep because this is  _unbelievable_ , but then again, so is Garrett Hawke.

On the fourth day he convinces her to close down early and she spends the rest of the afternoon and early evening on learning how to see through Varric’s and Isabela’s tells in Wicked Grace.

Garrett lingers by the end of the fifth day as she is about to close down and briefly rests his hand on her cheek before he heads home, and Imra spends the rest of the evening trying to battle the beet-red color her cheeks have taken and attempting to forget Isabela’s rather loud bouts of laughter when his companions walked in on them—the whole thought is preposterous in itself because there’s _nothing_ between the two of them, right?

Somehow he manages to convince her to join him for supper on the sixth day, and Imra sits through several hours of smalltalk with a tight smile on her face and tries hard to not fidget too much in her seat. The walk back to Lowtown with Garrett as an escort is almost uncomfortably quiet but he still rests his hand on her cheek a little longer than yesterday.

On the seventh day he entertains her from morning to evening with impossible tales of his Cousin Amell who is Warden-Commander in Ferelden and afterwards how he and his friends has cleared the entire Bone Pit for the dragons who had taken the mine over as a nest—he also shows her the new burn on his bicep and pouts when she demands he let her slap a bandage with herbs around his arm; honestly, that man is not aware of his own mortality sometimes.

The eighth day is when her world comes crashing down.

Garrett is still in the shop, just like he has been for the past seven wonderful days, when Ivan wanders in, clad in shining Templar armor from the neck down. The two men size up each other without a word at first and Imra feels everything come crashing down around her.

“Who in Andraste’s name are you?”

“This lovely lady’s knight in shining armor, that’s who. And you are?”

“Her brother.”

Silence fills the small shop. Garrett blinks a few times before a wide grin spreads on his face as he slings an arm around Imra’s shoulder and hauls her closer, “Nice meeting you but we really have to go now. Dinner is waiting at home.”

The scent of restrained mana and building magic is thick in the air. Ivan’s hand is emitting a shimmering light—a Smite ready to be thrown at the slightest provocation as Garrett only charges

“Hold it right there, apostate!” bellows in the small shop before a sword is drawn and what happens next is somewhat of a blur for Garrett.

One moment he is glaring at the Templar yelling and halfway through unsheathing his sword and the next there’s a searing flash of heat before a burning support beam falls from the ceiling, about a hand’s length from him and Imra. She feels an arm yank her backwards, out of the shop, as a voice yells ‘fire!’, as people scream for the guards and then finally she gulps in fresh air instead of heavy smoke and burning embers. The same strong arm as before keeps a tight grip on her shoulders as she coughs and heaves the soot from her lungs and Imra clings right back.

She can feel _his_ eyes on her back and with no small degree of maneuvering Imra manages to twist around in the arms holding her.

“No," she croaks out with burning eyes and soot on her face, but she is determined. He won't take this away from her— _none of them are_.

“You are certain of this?”

“I gave you my answer. Not now, not _ever_.”

Ivan turns around and leaves without another word. Imra turns back into the arms that hold her tight and wishes that the tears would just _stop_.


	25. Chapter 25

“This is ridiculous.”

“This is the best offer you are ever going to get is what it is.”

“I have a business to attend to in _Lowtown_ , serah Hawke! I can’t spend who knows how long lounging about in Hightown!”

Ouch, Garrett winces internally as he hauls a bag over his shoulder and insistently herds his guest into the livingroom. It’s pathetic enough that his closest friends can’t seem to find the initiative to use his blasted first name after nearly four years of working together, but for some reason it stings more than it ought to do with the livid spitfire that is Imra Trevelyan.

Really, she should be smiling and thanking him right now! It’s not every day that a newly instated noble of Kirkwall asks if he can house you temporarily until your house and shop is rebuilt because he accidentally set it on fire.

And the whole fire wasn’t even his fault, the ruddy Templar could just have taken a hint and _fuck off_ when Imra _clearly_ wasn’t interested in coming along with him.

There. It’s all the Templars fault. Not his. Because that would just be _ridiculous_.

Even so, Garrett is as incensed with himself as his involuntary guest appears to be. Losing control of his magic hasn’t happened since he was a little boy and accidentally set fire to his mother’s linens, prompting his father to begin helping him gain control so he wouldn’t be sent to the Circle in Ferelden.

He knows that internal control can always be better than what it already is, Anders is living proof of that with that bleeding spirit of his inside his head, but still… it wasn’t his fault. He was provoked and acted unconsciously to combat the threat in front of him. Maker above, the only saving grace in this whole ordeal is the delight that his dog shows in the newest addition to the household.

“I’ll pay you back,” she mutters and sits down in one of the armchairs. She is fiddling with her skirt, twisting and turning a part of it in every possible direction.

“You don’t have to. After all, I was the one who… the one who burnt your home,” he mutters, cheeks feeling like they’re on fire.

“I don’t care.”

“Very well, as my lady commands,” Garrett says dramatically and bows his head down to press his lips gently against her hand. Her skin, he notes, is softer than he'd imagined it to be and smells of elfroot and crystal grace. He pretends not to notice how her face lights up when she yanks her hand away.

And he _definitely_ doesn’t notice the adorable little smile on her face when she peeks up at him beneath her lashes.


	26. Chapter 26

Today is a shitty day.

_“Speak, Viddathari. Who did you murder and why?”_

Andraste’s flaming ass, things could not have gone worse from the moment he stepped inside the Qunari Compound with Aveline at his side and his hand lingering around the handle of his staff.

Everything goes wrong from the moment he hears his friend address the Qunari leader, when the elves are brought before him and the guard and when the Arishok finally snaps—seeing the leader of the horned giants roar for his people to attack will haunt his nights for _weeks_.

_“There is only one solution.”_

Garrett is never going to admit it, at least not unless Varric is buying the drinks and keeps them coming, but he has never felt as scared in his life as when the Arishok’s face turned to stone, mind set upon wiping out every remaining part of Kirkwall that wouldn’t comply with _his_ vision of how the world ought to be.

And now he’s here, in the middle of a burning Lowtown with Qunari bodies all over the place while converts of the Qun are attacking left, right and center.

Today is a _very_ shitty day.

He stumbles through the burning streets, Fenris and Aveline clearing the way for him and Merrill, but it isn’t until they reach Hightown that Garrett finally realizes how bad the situation is becoming or how fast it’s all happening. He sees a woman being dragged off by her foot by two of the Arishok’s soldiers. Further up the stairs he spots one of the city guards attempting to defend a noble and his wife, he almost looks away when the Qunari’s sword pierces the chest and flings the lifeless body to the side before grabbing both screaming Kirkwallers and hauling the two of them off to wherever.

 _Fuck_.

Imra’s in Hightown. In his home. _In his noble house._

_Fuck indeed_

Garrett ignores the surprised yelps from his friends as he bulldozes through rampaging Qunari, breezes past the Knight-Commander and First Enchanter screaming at each other yet again and he doesn’t stop until he stands in front of the Amell Mansion and stares at the broken, kicked-in remains of his front door.

For a moment he hears her voice screaming his name and he whirls around, staff raised to strike as a horde of karasten and one of their fucked up mages swarm the area and he sees her slung over the shoulder, her lone captor heading for the Keep.

Garrett’s hand tighten around the staff. He’ll save her. He has to.

A swirl of his staff is the only warning he gives and then the world around him _burns_.


	27. Chapter 27

Seeing Garrett in battle for the first time is an eyeopener to Imra. She caught a glimpse of him fighting through the streets hours earlier, when the Qunari soldiers dragged her out of the Amell Mansion and headed for the Viscount’s Keep, but now he stands not far from her with mage staff pointed at the Arishok and fire burning all around him. When she saw him in the streets he was ferocious, dangerous, almost otherworldly and so utterly different from how she usually sees him with a crooked smile on his lips and warm eyes brimming with mirth.

Seeing him in battle reminds her that Garrett Hawke is much more than just a simple man—it reminds her that he is also a mage feared by many an inhabitant of Kirkwall.

She hears the Arishok propose a duel between him and Garrett and she hears Garrett accept the offer, but the thought of him going against that… that _beast_ is almost enough for her to faint on the spot. Garrett is not frail by any means, but seeing him in front of the Qunari leader makes him seem so much smaller and frailer than he ought to. He’s a mage and mages usually aren’t built like the bears that stalk the woods back home around Ostwick, but maybe, _just maybe_ , it will be different this time.

Someone hauls her backwards, drags her and the other hostages away to give room for the duel, and she simply lets them because this is too overwhelming for her to react right now.

The Arishok begins the battle between him and Garrett, his giant lumps of sharp metal hurling towards Garrett who dodges out of the way and retaliates with fire sent for the Qunari’s face. On and on the two men fight for an hour, then two, then three, then four and after that the rest blurs away as Imra quietly resigns herself to die by the hands of the Qunari.

She is Andrastean through and through. Nothing is going to make her give up her faith only so that she could live a little longer in a life that no longer would be her own.

After what feels like too many hours sitting on hard marble she hears the sound of wood hitting stone and turns her head.

Garrett is leaning against a crackled pillar, sweat running down his face, mouth wide open to gasp for air and one hand clutching his side where blood oozes out and stains his armor and the ground beneath him. Not far away lies the Arishok with his chest oozing smoke and his head on fire. Garrett’s eyes meets hers for a moment—and only for a moment but that is long enough—before she is stumbling onto her feet and running towards him as fast as she can. She slams into him and knocks the two of them onto the ground but neither of them cares as he wraps a hand around her waist and she finally lets loose all the tears that have been building up.

It’s messy and clumsy and embarrassing beyond belief but she keeps her arms around his neck and he his arm around her waist until the Templars arrive to the carnage that is the Viscount’s former domain and sees the slaughtered Qunari strewn across the floor along with the savior of Kirkwall sitting with a girl in his arms whilst cracking one awful joke after another to distract himself from the pain.


	28. Chapter 28

_Champion of Kirkwall_

Garrett glares vehemently at the armor put on display on the wall across his bed. As things are all he wants is setting the blasted thing on fire, along with whoever planted the idea of him becoming Kirkwall’s chosen Champion in Meredith’s head.

In the days following his dramatic one-man army display and the following battle with the Arishok and his forces, Garrett has been confined to bedrest by a very insistent set of friends with Imra in particular not leaving his side unless it is absolutely _vital_ for her to do so.

Hearing her rip Anders a new one through the door, when his friend suggested using magic to heal the wounds right away, has to be one of the most entertaining moments in Garrett’s life—not that he would ever admit that to anyone, Anders would murder him in cold blood and hide the body in the sewers before daylight had vanished.

So, here he is, confined to a bed and only just capable of using the blighted chamberpot without help.

Fan- _fucking_ -tastic.

Pulling back the covers Garrett shifts his glare from the new set of armor with his name on it to the bandages crisscrossing his torso and the entirety of his left arm. Every inch reeks of some elfroot-based poultice and it stings terribly in the nose but _damn_ is it effective. Nary a squeak of pain leaves him as he pulls himself up futher into a sitting position, all it gives him is a new angle to glare at the sparkling set of armor in the corner—the armor that represents his non-existent love for this shithole of a city which has taken _everything_ from him.

A brief moment of inspiration hits him all of a sudden; if the pain isn’t present then that means that he can move around. Painlessly too… maybe, no _probably_ painlessly seems more likely—he has no idea how his resident healer is going to react but it is no doubt going to be hysterical. He throws out his legs and shakily gets onto his feet. The room spins, _because_ _of course it does_ , and while Garrett is busy groaning and moaning about his head playing tricks on him he doesn’t hear the footsteps coming closer to the door.

Garrett’s brief attempt at freedom is quickly brought to a staggering defeat when Imra enters his room with a tray of food and sharply commands him back beneath the covers, even as Garrett mutters and spits halfhearted curses at her the entire time.

 _Maker’s balls, the next week is going to be trying_ , he thinks and reluctantly crawls back into bed. But then again, personal roomservice might not be so bad…


	29. Chapter 29

If there is one thing Garrett has learnt over the many years of nursing a close friendship with Varric Tethras, it’s that the dwarf in question is absolutely _shameless_ when it comes to teasing his favorite associates.

“You know, I can’t remember the last time I saw you here at the Hanged Man, Hawke,” the dwarf notes casually while polishing bits of _Bianca_ , “Too busy showing off to your new lady?”

Garrett snorts and rubs something suspiciously sticky off his hand on his shirt, “She’s a temporary addition to the household, not ‘my new lady’, you imbecile.”

“Could have fooled me,” the dwarf snickers and replaces the now-shining part of his crossbow before grabbing a new one.

“Besides, what would I even show off? She only let me out of my own house three days ago!”

Garrett absentmindedly rubs at the new, tender scar that runs across his stomach before downing the last of his drink. The weeks following him surviving his one on one duel with the Arishok have been taxing enough with him confined to first his bed and later his own home. How that woman managed to talk Bodahn and Sandal into the arrangement is a mystery beyond Garrett’s understanding and to be honest he’s not really sure that he even _wants_ to know how it happened.

In spite of several threats that has involved anything from withholding all alcohol to getting one of the others to watch him, the two weeks spent solely with Imra, the dwarves and his dog as company has been strangely… calming.

Somehow.

Really, he has no idea how that happened when the last five years has gone by with him swinging his staff at anything from Qunari to blood mages hiding in a sandy cave somewhere.

“I swear, the way you two dance around each other it’s almost like watching a sappy Orlesian play about a pair of virgins finding each other.”

“Piss off, Varric,” Garrett grumbles and flags down one of the serving wenches.

He needs another drink. Or maybe ten.


	30. Chapter 30

There comes a time and a place in a man’s life where he needs to face his demons and stop acting like a virgin brat about to ask a wench for a tumble in the hay.

To be honest Garrett never thought that it would happen to him at the tender age of twenty nine— _better late than never_ as his father would have said before cracking an awful joke to humiliate his son just a bit more.

How _ever_ , he also certainly never expected the object of his despair to be the woman currently berating him for a broken nose as she attempts to set it right again.

Pity that magic can’t fix cartilage.

“I can’t decide whether I should cry or laugh whenever you turn up. Business is booming because of you and your escapades, Champion,” she grumbles and gently pokes and prods at his nose with her dainty, little fingers.

He knows that she knows that he _hates_ the title of Champion almost as vehemently as he hates the Templars, but that doesn’t stop her from spitting the title at him whenever he’s messed up. Such as now.

Imra’s mood has been dancing the fine line between severe annoyance and real anger ever since she found out about him setting up a new shop for her down by the bazaar, but since it's kind of his fault that her first shop burnt down it seemed only fitting that he should try to fix it for her. Maker’s balls, that woman has a set of lungs when she wants her displeasure to be heard. Honestly, Garrett really has no idea how he came to deserve the strange, tentative friendship that the two of them nurse. A friendship full of shy smiles and the occasional hand (mostly his) cupping the other’s cheek, full of worry and joy, full of…

He scarcely dares say it, even in the privacy of his own mind.

It’s a strange feeling that has taken up residence in his head and chest. Oh, he _knows_ its name but there is no way that he will utter it in the physical world, not when the person he suspects as responsible barely glances at him if it isn’t to tell him to be more careful or stop antagonizing the Coterie.

She steps a little closer and Garrett looks at her, _really_ looks at her, for what seems the thousandth time.

Dark hair tumbling down her shoulders and framing her heart-shaped face, green eyes narrowed slightly in annoyance and pink lips stretched thin in displeasure. She even has that cute frown between her eyebrows which only appears when he is being  _particularly_ hardheaded.

She is as lovely as ever and Garrett is _fucking terrified_ of this whole ordeal.

He knows that this infatuation is a terrible idea. He knows that she would be better off with someone else who, for starters, _wasn’t_ a mage, that it would be better for her to find some noble prat and live a normal life with him. But the thing is… normal things doesn’t happen for Garrett Hawke and his friends in Kirkwall. In Kirkwall you get hurt, you're terrified of the Templar Order and your house burns down when you argue with family if you’re _really_ unlucky.

You don’t get to fall in… in…

Love.

A sharp yank and a long string of curses brings him back to the present and a moment later Garrett cups his sore nose as Imra steps to inspect her handywork.

“Warn me next time!” he snipes at her, no bark behind the wall of annoyance he puts on.

“Don’t get hurt next time!” she chides right back at him, arms crossed and face so adorably angered that it takes every bout of mental control not to kiss that frown away.

Garrett sighs. Why can’t his life just be a little easy?


	31. Chapter 31

Quite frankly, Imra chastises herself, this behavior is nothing short of _ridiculous_.

Oh, but damn him. Damn Garrett Hawke with his cheeky smile and kindness and constant jokes so snarky that it’s a wonder the Templars haven’t dragged him off yet. Damn him for looking out for her after the disaster that was Ivan coming to Kirkwall. Damn him for being so… so…

Damn him for being so utterly wonderful and charming that it almost hurts to look at him.

It’s utterly ridiculous, of course, she realizes. He is the one who has given her a place to stay until she can move in above the new store he has somehow procured for her. He is the one who kept her company before that for an entire week after her brother had tried to drag her back to Ostwick. He has given her a small bit of color in her otherwise so dull and gray reality that used to be her life in the city of Kirkwall.

 _I don’t deserve it_ , she repeats over and over inside her head every day when she is let inside the Amell Mansion in Hightown by Bodahn and helps either him or Orana make dinner. She repeats it when she sits in the cozy library with a mug of tea and stubbornly refuses to look at the noble family tree that Lady Leandra had made before her untimely death.

 _I don't deserve it_ repeats again and again and again...

She doesn’t deserve any of this, not when she doesn’t even have the ability to try and pay him back, and not even if business has boomed since the fabled _Champion of Kirkwall_ has made her shop his primary supplier of herbs, potions and other remedies that his pet extremist can’t concoct.

Being jealous of a Grey Warden is pointless, she knows that very well, but even so, Imra can’t help it from time to time when she sees the way Anders looks at Garrett after they have dragged themselves back from whatever harebrained scheme they found along the Wounded Coast. She is jealous of happy, tired smiles and constant companionship and _friends_ , oh, to have friends like Garrett has would be wonderful.

But then she remembers that week he spent visiting her or staying all day in her little shop. She remembers him cupping her cheek with a warm, calloused hand and smiling down at her with those warm, brown eyes—something hides behind the warmness but she was never quick enough to catch it.

She realizes that she likes him as more than an acquaintance who started out so long ago with bringing her flowers.

She has nothing, he has everything.

Imra doesn’t care anymore, she’s too scared to run away for once.


	32. Chapter 32

These days the tension is thick enough to cut through with Fenris’ recently procured Blade of Mercy whenever Garrett and Imra are in the same room. Varric and Isabela are having a blast with the whole situation of course, and constantly fires off lewd comments (mostly Isabela’s fault) and questions suggestive enough to have Aveline in a constant state of reddened cheeks and hasty temper (again, mostly Isabela’s fault).

Garrett just wants it all to end already because he’s running out of ideas to leave the house at odd times whenever Imra’s anywhere near him and he is quite sure that the last few days has confused the poor girl more than it has helped.

Catching a hurt look out the corner of his eye the other night certainly hasn’t helped him either.

Days go by, yet he does nothing to salvage what is slipping away of their friendship. She is a sweet girl but she should not be dragged down by an apostate, he simply won’t allow it. She ought to find someone nice and magic-free and _good_ (because anyone else should prepare to meet the bloody Maker if Garrett has anything to say about it) so she won’t end up being arrested or killed by the triggerhappy Templar bastards here in Kirkwall.

It’s the first time in over fifteen years that Garrett actually holds a sliver of hatred for his ability to manipulate the arcane forces in Thedas.

He’s a fool and he _knows it_ , Maker, does he ever, which is the most annoying of it all.


	33. Chapter 33

More days goes by and nothing happens. They don’t talk together, they don’t eat together, they do _nothing_ when the other person is in the room and that is what makes her dare to ponder over the words her brother said so long ago.

A letter arrives from Ostwick and she hates how the envelope makes her breath catch for a moment before she opens it to read the content.

She silently hates herself for considering what the content offers.

Imra waits until Garrett returns home in the evening after a week of trekking up and down the Wounded Coast. She lets him throw on the comfortable clothes of home and sits through dinner, tense as a board, until she finally corners him in the library.

“I… have been wondering.”

“’bout what?”

He doesn’t look at her as he fills his goblet with fragrant red wine.

“About returning… returning to Ostwick, I mean.”

Garrett’s glass drops to the thick carpet and bloodred liquid stains as the wine seeps into the soft covers. His eyes, _his beautiful amber eyes_ , are wide and confused as if he doesn’t quite _get_ what it is she is saying, but Imra is too tired to elaborate even further right now. She is sick and tired of this dance the two of them have begun and most of all she just wants it to _stop_.

“Wha— _why_?!”

He stands up from the chair and stalks towards her, lips thin and his brows meeting above his eyes in a bushy frown.

“I’m tired, Garrett,” Imra says and struggles to keep her voice steady as she looks up at his questioning eyes, “I’m tired of this game we have going on.”

“Game?”

“I’m tired of no one taking the next step. I’m tired of being alone in a house that’s never quiet. I’m tired of _this_!”

“Well, I’m no good with this! I’m no good wi—with _feelings_ and doing _things_ and taking _steps_!” he spits out, twisting around so he can pace the floor in front of the fireplace, “Do you even want to go?”

“What?”

“Do. You. Want. To. Go?” Garrett snaps at her and walks back to loom over her, his face a mix of sadness and caution. It’s a mix she has never seen on his face before. Not ever.

“There’s nothing for me here, now is there?”

He glares at her and she glares right back. His eyes are merciless as they wander over her face, searching for some kind of clue as to what to say, what do do, how to articulate the whole fucking thing.

“There’s me.”

Imra blinks. This isn’t right. He’s not supposed to say that because he’s been as absent from her as she has been from him. This is not right _at all_.

“But you don’t do this kind of thing.”

“How could you possibly know that?” he huffs and Imra barely holds back on the urge to slap that smug look off his face.

“You’ve never done something like this in all the years I’ve known you.”

“Well, maybe you’ve never seen me in action.”

“I don’t know, have I?”

“Obviously you have. S’not my fault you’re thick about it all.”

“Did you just call me thi—?!”

He cuts her shriek off by pressing his lips against hers and burying his hands in her braid.

It’s awkward and just a bit messy because it’s been a while for both, but at the same time it’s so utterly perfect that all Imra wants to do is scream as loud as she can on top of the building and hope that her parents hear it all the way over in Ostwick.

She is not alone anymore, and neither is he.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise? Only took forever...


	34. Chapter 34

The following seven days are spent wrapped completely up in themselves and dismissing Orana, Bodahn and Sandal from the house for just as long.

Garrett balances on a fine line between being a gentleman and a cheeky sod as always, presenting her with flowers and taking her on evenings strolls one day before spending the next cracking jokes and snarking at nosy merchants in the Hightown Market when they enquire as to why Garrett might as well have welded Imra to his side.

She’s not sure if she should blush from embarrassment or flattery at the merchants words, but Garrett brushes a finger or two across her cheek, kisses her sweetly and all is forgotten in a dreamy hazy of love and fondness.

To her it still doesn’t feel _real_.

She discovers one evening that Garrett Hawke in a kitchen is an absolute _menace_ and firmly demands that he clean the pots instead of brutalizing the poor slab of meat she purchased from the butcher.

“From mincing meat to cleaning pots like a chambermaid!” he pouts dramatically, “What will the citizens of Kirkwall say if they ever catch their beloved Champion playing house with his lover?”

She snorts, “Is it ‘lover’ already? Wouldn’t that imply that we’ve bedded each other already?”

Garrett turns to face her, face set in a serious expression, “I say you are anything less than my lover and the men in this city will try to snatch you away from me.”

“You are not serious, are you?”

“Deadly. Like Qunari Vitaar to the rest of humanity.”

She throws a dirty drying cloth at him before returning to mincing the meat and ignores the guffaw that escapes him. Before she even knows it his arms are around her waist and she is twirled around the kitchen until they’re both slightly delirius from the rush and he kisses her.

It’s a nice feeling—being in love, knowing that the other cares about you too—and she never wants to let it go.


	35. Chapter 35

Garrett is not a gentle lover.

He bites and nips and sucks on everything he can reach with his mouth. His fingers wrap around her flesh and clutches her body to his as they ride waves of pleasure out together.

His kisses are feverish and hot as lips travel down her throat, hands brushing against her breasts as she arcs into his touch.

“Promise me,” he breathes heavily against her neck and Imra finds herself nodding slowly.

She craves his burning touch on her body, craves _him_ as if he is a drug she has shamelessly begun to use, and it terrifies her. How was she to know that love could be so strong—that it would be so addictive once she has finally had a taste of what _real_ love is and not some crush on one of her father’s knights back home in Ostwick.

“Promise me,” he rasps, the tips of his fingers digging into her thighs as he yanks her against him, teeth biting her lips to swallow the moan she utters in the darkened, candlelit room.

“Forever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at that, smut?  
> Changed the rating to be sure...


	36. Chapter 36

The door slams open and she hears his voice roar insults only moments before he appears in the library’s doorway. His face is pale and his lips are flattened to a thin line behind the tousled beard. Blood covers him almost from top to toe and it is all Imra can do to not let out a startled sound when he collapses into the chair beside her’s and just… _stares_ into the roaring fire.

Anders is right behind him, blonde hair even more frazzled than usual and his eyes wide in what Imra can only describe as utter _panic_.

“What did you _do_ , Hawke?!” the healer shrieks and grabs a hold of Garrett’s shoulder in an attempt to wrestle him up and away from the chair.

In retaliation, Garrett shoves his friend off him and stands up from the chair he has occupied for a grand total of five seconds, staff gripped from its holster on his back and pointed directly at Anders.

“ _Hawke_!” Anders roars and his face turns redder by the second. The prickling crackle of magic in the air fills the air as the two mages stare down each other and Imra draws back silently. She watches Garrett’s fingers drag at the still-wet blood covering his chest-armor before they start towards his arm.

“Garrett?” she rasps and clutches her elbows, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t you dare, Hawke!” Anders roars, “ _Don’t you fucking dare_!”

“Get out!” Garrett snarles and yanks his fingers away from the rune etched into his upper arm. He is shaking, but whether it is from rage or fright none of them can tell.

“Imra, get away from him right now!”

“Garrett?”

“Don’t you fucking dare, Anders!”

“IMRA! Get away from him _right now_!”

“Get out of my house, asshole!”

It all happens in moments. Fadestepping to Imra’s side and returning both of them to where he stood alone before, Anders proceeds to shove Imra out of the library.

“Get out of here. Go to the Hanged Man, _now_.”

She does as he says without a single protest and stumbles out of the front door just as profanities and crashes sound from the library.

Not once does she look back.


	37. Chapter 37

Imra’s biggest fault is that she keeps forgiving him.

He doesn’t deserve it, not by a long shot, and more than once has one or more of his friends refused to talk to him while she instead has welcomed him with open arms.

Honestly, it’s getting a bit pathetic that he relies on the comfort of a disgraced noble girl to equally heal his battered body and soul.

Destroy her livelihood and distance her from her siiblings? She forgives him, albeit after ranting and raving a good deal of the following day.

Fail to save her from rampaging Qunari? She forgives him without question and makes use of her skills as a herbalist

Delve into Blood Magic and then get exposed by your local radical mage friend? _She bloody forgives him anyway_.

Garrett has never felt as pathetic as when she comes home after that last particular disaster, the entire house in _shambles_ , Bodahn, Sandal and Orana hiding in their quarters along with the dog, himself hiding away in their shared bedroom, and all she does is stand in the doorway while informing him that she will make sure to sire cleaners tomorrow so Orana won’t have to deal with it all on her own. Then she goes downstairs to make herself comfortable in the old room she slept in before they became a… well, a _thing_ is probably the closest term to explain what they are to each other.

Granted, Imra didn’t speak to him for an entire week afterwards the whole Blood Mage-revelation was thrown onto the table, and Garrett continues to thank his lucky stars that Fenris didn’t march directly up to the Templar Compound and drag back the Knight-Lieutenant or, _Maker forbid_ , Carver.

She still came back to him, even though he once more proved that all he seems to be good for is fucking up everyone’s lives, and she once more let him kiss and hold and love her.

Not like she deserves because _no one_ will ever be able to give her that.

Void take him, he can’t even muster the courage to declare that he loves her. Garrett has finally realized after losing his father to sickness, his little sister to darkspawn, his little brother to the _fucking Templars_ and his mother to a madman that love… love isn’t something that grows on trees and it most certainly doesn’t stick around if you are in any way related to the Hawke Family. Lying here in his bed with his arms wrapped around her body, listening to the sound of her breath, is ridiculously therapeutic.

 “I love you,” she whispers and presses her lips against his sternum, “I hope you know that, Garrett.”

There, another thing she forgives. She can say the words where he cannot.

He doesn’t say anything. He just tightens his arms around her and holds her as the sun sets and together they drift off to sleep.

The next day all of Kirkwall burns.


	38. Chapter 38

The earth rumbles. Men and women look to the skies and stare at the ground in concern; nothing except tremors steadily gaining power shake the foundation of Hightown as a strange light emits from the top, from the Chantry, and for a moment everything is red.

Screams reach her ears as Imra staggers back, almost as if she is in a daze, watching as the Chantry is torn apart by a beam of crimson light.

A shockwave follows, numbing her ears and throwing her backwards.

Imra’s ears are ringing, the sounds around her muddled and confusing as she feels bodies push against her, the citizens of Kirkwall only too eager to escape the chaos that rains down from above in the shape of embers and debris.

And she is in their way.

A house groans from the aftermath of the shock, dust from bricks and clay trickling down above her, and Imra only has a second to look up before a balcony falls apart above her.

Pain, _searing pain_ , streaks up from the tips of her fingers to the shoulder on her left arm. Something throbs in the back of her head and all she thinks is _concussion_ before it becomes too hard to think.

Darkness. Blessed, calm darkness, only being briefly pierced by screams and wails.

She doesn’t know how long she stays in the darkness, but it’s comforting and nice and there aren’t too many loud noises.

Then, pressure is being lifted off her body and someone setting her against something rough and sharp and not very comfortable at all.

“ _Andraste’s flaming ass, Hawke is going to murder Blondie_ ,” someone snaps before the scent of leather and grease and ale is all around her—Varric…

Imra opens her eyes slowly, her vision muddled and full of bright specks of light that obstruct the face of whoever is keeping her steady.

“… _on’t keep him from doing so… Chantry explo… eed to face justice_!”

“… _ot so loud… cussion, most likely… ow go fi… Hawke_!”

More voices join the first, all muddled and twisted from the ringing that keeps echoing in her ears and her head hurts.

Garrett…

She needs to find Garrett, make sure that he is alright…

But her eyes are so heavy and her head hurts and her shoulder is on fire. Sleep can fix it, right? But only for a moment.


	39. Chapter 39

Garrett’s ears are still ringing from the explosion of the Chantry when he staggers towards the screaming couple that is Meredith and Orsino. His body feels wobbly, like after that one time when he and Carver accidentally taunted a druffalo and got intimate with said druffalo’s horns.

Ah, childhood…

Meredith waves her sword around, her eyes practically _on fire_ , and screams words that all melt together, all except one.

Annulment.

Well, shit, as Varric puts it every time something goes wrong.

Orsino is little better, with the mages around him forming up with staves ready to unleash whatever unholy horror is fastest to throw at the Templars, who all as one are pointing their swords at the mages, both sides just waiting for the other to attack. And in the midst of it all, with a self-righteous Grey Warden mage, a cursing dwarf and an elf pulled tighter than a new bowstring, stands Garrett Hawke, resident Champion of Kirkwall and epicenter of all bad luck on the continent of Thedas.

 _Fuck_!

Now the two morons are screaming at him to pick a side— _MAGE OR TEMPLAR, CHAMPION?!_ —but Garrett just stands there with wide eyes as he shifts between staring at Anders and at the _smoking and_ _burning_ _spot where Kirkwall’s Chantry used to be_.

The Grand Cleric is no doubt a goner, homes are crumbling to dust all around him—even here. People are running around screaming in fear, praying to Andraste, the Maker, to anyone who will hear their pleas.

 _Andraste’s tits_ , this wasn’t what he had hoped for this morning, but beggars can never be choosers, can they?

Fenris finally joins the screaming fest, stomping forward with Carver right behind him, and grabs Anders by the scruff of his neck. Curses and insults fly in the air between Elf, Mage and Templar and Garrett can’t take it anymore.

“ _Enough_!” he roars, slamming his staff into the crackled pavement and letting thunder and lightning crackle in the air. Everyone stops and stares at him as Garrett bites back a groan of exhaustion and marches up to Meredith and Orsino, “Instead of standing around and accusing each other, why not start on cleaning up the fucking city you all live in?”

He turns away, ignoring the outraged cries from Meredith, who continues to rave about blood mages and tranquility for all and carnage to all who oppose her. He stops in front of Fenris, Anders and Carver, giving them all a seething glare.

“Help Varric assemble a team and work on clearing up inside and around the fucking Chantry. Anders is coming with me.”

He grabs his former favorite apostate and drags the man with him back to where Meredith and Orsino still stand, both of them strangely quiet as they await what their Champion wishes to say.

“This prick,” Garret growls as Anders is shoved in front of him and forced on his knees, “is the man responsible for all this crap that’s happened. _Yes_ , he’s a mage and _yes_ , he blew up the Chantry, but he is still the best damn healer there is in this shithole of a city and we have injured people on all sides. Screw each other over all you care but, until this fucking mess is solved, _he stays alive and helps the injured_. Tear him a new one when we’re finished.”

Garrett walks away, tugging Anders along right behind him, while Varric vanishes with Fenris and Carver.

This is just too much shit to deal with right now.


	40. Chapter 40

Imra wakes to plush pillows and fine covers drawn up to the tip of her chin. She is home, she is in Garrett’s home—her home, their home.

She hears raised voices through the closed door and blinks away the remnants of sleep, her vision hazy and unfocused.

“Oh, praise to Mythal, you’re awake!”

Merrill—sweet Merrill, blood mage, apostate, Elvhen, friend—sits in a chair beside her, a pillow against her back and a steaming mug warming her dainty little hands.

“We—we pulled you out from under the rubble,” Merrill blathers on as she rubs the sleep from her eyes and stands from her chair to help Imra sit up, “Hawke was so angry when Varric, Fenris and Carver found you. He attacked Anders.”

 _Anders_?

It still hurts to think and the back of her head is still throbbing like something heavy was dropped on top of it—that probably happened, the balcony apparently isn’t a dream. Her question must show on her face because Merrill wrings her hands in misery as she shifts her weight from one foot to the other before giving the door a long look.

“I—I’ll just go tell Hawke that you’re awake. He’ll be happy to hear it.”

She darts out of the room like a little flash of Elvhen lightning and Imra is left lying in the enormous bed all alone. When Merrill slips through the door a furious “ _don’t fucking care that you didn’t think she would be near the bloody Chantry!_ ” comes through and Imra winces when the thundering voice makes her headache flare up. She doesn’t hear Merrill speak but the voices outside quiet down and the then there’s the sound of feet running up the stairs before the door is thrown open and Garrett stares at her.

Fear, desperation, anger, sadness and a myriad of other emotions is visible in his eyes as he crosses the distance between them in two wide strides and kneels beside her, his hands shaking softly as he cups her cheeks and presses his lips to her forehead.

“Thank the Maker, you’re alright…” he rasps against her skin and Imra breaks down, tears drenching Garrett’s robes as he carefully wraps his arms around her and just holds her.

They’re both alright.

* * *

 

Garrett doesn’t let her leave the house, much less the bed, for two weeks.

He’s gone when she wakes from fretful sleep and returns late in the evening either covered in blood or smeared with dust from helping the Templars and mages with the cleaning. She tries to help Bodahn and Sandal where she can around the house, but the dwarves are loathe to let her do more than help cleaning dust off the books in the library—well, that or Garrett has made them promise not to make her do anything too strenuous.

“I should be out there, helping,” she says one evening after he’s washed all the filth off his body and lying in bed beside her.

It’s the wrong thing to say.

Garrett goes off like she has set fire to his robes. He rises from the bed and starts pacing back and forth, yelling one thing after another about how scared he was when she wasn’t here, when she wasn’t in Lowtown, when all he could think of was ‘ _Oh Maker, not her_ ’ as he tore through the wreckage of the Chantry and couldn’t find her body.

She retorts with knowing that he would always find her and that being scared doesn’t mean that he can lock her away, but Garrett doesn’t listen to her. He won’t. And she won’t listen to him—they are both too stubborn to admit defeat when their pride is called into question.

It’s the first time they have an argument, a real, serious argument, and Imra has never felt so horrible in her life. With her family it was different, it never felt like this, but with Garrett it hurts and tears at her heart like jagged glass in a wound. They scream horrible things at each other for hours until her headache returns and she breaks down into tears, simply unable to keep it all at bay anymore.

Garrett storms out with his armor loosely buckled and his staff strapped to his back, leaving Imra to cry even harder when she hears the front gate slam shut even from up in here and she curls up into a ball. Bodahn comes with a draught to take away the headaches and soreness as soon as Garrett is out of the door and the kind dwarf sits with her until she falls asleep, but her dreams are restless and scary and whenever she wakes up bathed in sweat she starts crying all over again when she feels the cold, tangled sheets beside her.

She has never felt so alone in her life.

 

* * *

 

Imra is staring at the gates in front of her with disbelieving eyes, her mouth opening and closing as she tries to understand _why_ he would take her here of all places.

“Garrett?” she rasps out and turns to face him with her hands stretched out towards him, “W-what’s happening? Why are we _here_?”

They couldn’t stay in Kirkwall and he can’t have her with him no matter how much he wishes that he could—the chance of her getting killed by bandits or beasts is too great, especially _now_ when fucking criminals have begun targeting him and his associates.

So, he’s taken her back to Ostwick, back to her family where she will be kept safe, nevermind that she is going to hate him for this.

He sees her mother and brother begin to drag her towards the estate some hundred metres behind them, sees how she struggles against their holds and how her eyes are brimming with tears as the betrayal runs fresh through her heart.

Garrett turns away, ignores how she cries out his name in desperation and how her fingers clutch onto his cloak for the briefest moment before he yanks it out of her grasp as he continues his walk towards the estate’s entrance gate.

“ _Garrett_!”

He can’t think about this right now. He can’t let her stay with him when everything around him is chaos and the Carta targeting him for some ridiculous reason, no doubt.

“ _Garrett, come back_!”

“Come on, Varric,” he grunts out, “Let’s go kill some Carta.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading.


End file.
